


King of Infinite Space

by eigengrau



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/M, Fucked-Up Relationship Ahoy, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he could have loved her, once. Topher and Adelle and changing times. Set sometime between the end of season 2 and Epitaph One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Infinite Space

He thinks he could have loved her, once. Under different circumstances, in a different world. Another life. In an alternate universe. Those exist, he's sure of it, it's basic science theory and it would be illogical, to quote Spock, to think that it wasn't a possibility.

He's gone back and forth with his feelings about Adelle- Ms. DeWitt- from fear to slightly aroused fear to respect to something close to friendship to hatred to comraderie to fear all over again to... whatever. He's given up on trying to put a word to their relationship at this point. Instead he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on the pull of her fingers as they card through his hair, smoothing out the tangles. He knows she's trying to sort out the tangles inside his head, too, but his brain is a rat's nest now and there is no untying those knots. Not anymore.

Some days are bad, and on those he can't focus on anything for more than ten seconds and forgets who he is, what he's done. On the bad days he hides in corners and holes in the floor. On the bad days he turns into a child, playing with the pages of his books while the print swims on the paper. 

On the good days he is lucid, and then he wants to die. So it's all relative, really.

"Topher," Adelle murmurs, and her lips press against his temple. They are soft and his are chapped, and he feels embarassed when she brushes her fingers over his mouth. He doesn't know how she manages to stay so soft on the outside- all curling brown hair and warm brown eyes, pink lips and short nails. Even the bags under her eyes are soft and blue. He knows, has always known, that underneath she is all angles and sharp corners. But time has worn down her edges, inside and out, and the curves of her cheekbones are hollow from hunger but her kiss is soft, soft, soft, and he is falling when she should be holding him up.

He tries so hard to stay focused. He knows she's trying too.

 _I could have loved you, once_ , he thinks, and it's only when she pulls back to look at him that he realizes he said it out loud.

She sighs, and he buries his face in the curve of her neck, ears burning. 

"Sorry," he mutters, and wishes that this was a bad day and he could fall back on rambling psychosis. But he's at least semi-lucid right now, and there's no point in pretending. It's very stressful being a part-time crazy person.

The lights flicker, and he winces. Adelle's grip on his back tightens, her hands a hard press against his back. He can feel her palms through his t-shirt, clammy. The thought of Adelle with sweaty palms- Adelle showing  _any_  kind of anxiety- would have sent a shiver down his spine in the old days. But at this point they're both used to each other's weaknesses.

Maybe he won't have to pretend- he can feel himself slipping, sliding, feet losing their grip on the metaphorical ice. He can feel the warm condensation of his own breath gathering on Adelle's skin, wet against his cheek. His hands touch her hip, the bare small of her back. Her shirt is next to them, a puddle on the floor, and his fingers brush the waistline of her skirt. "Topher..." she cautions quietly, but he  _wants_  her, he can do this, he doesn't want to let her down. He can finish what he starts. He tries so hard-

"I know what I know" he breathes, and kisses her shoulder fast, hard. "I know what I know, I know what I know-"

" _Topher_." She holds him back and his hands scrabble for flesh, for touch. He reaches out for her and she pushes him away. "You need to lie down."

"I know what- what I- Adelle, I  _know things_."

She pulls him back to her, holds him close. 

"I'm a genius, I think. I'm not- not sure anymore." Something is caught in his mind, something from twelfth grade English class- why is that there? "I could be... bounded in a nutshell."

"What?" Adelle asks, voice soft in his ear.

"King of infinite space." He shakes his head, like it'll shake loose the thoughts sticking to the walls of his mind, building up in sticky piles like plaque in an artery. If he shakes it hard enough maybe he'll have a brain attack. He starts to laugh, too high, too fast. "I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space, but... but..."

"... were it not that I have bad dreams," Adelle finishes for him. 

"Right. That." He gulps in a breath. "I have bad dreams."

She doesn't say anything, and he fills the silence on his own, just opens his mouth and lets the words fall out. He doesn't even hear it, the sound of his own voice alien to his ears. He shakes in Adelle's arms. This woman, who used to spend her days glaring at him and ordering him around, who gave him a new life, who betrayed him and then helped him and then hid with him- she doesn't ease her grip. The lights flicker and she holds him, as unrelenting and solid as ever, and he falls apart all over again while she watches.

He could have loved her, once, in another life. They're both too broken to do anything other than lie in the beds they've made for themselves, but at least they're lying together.  


End file.
